


An Inconvenient Repercussion

by TreacleTart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Community: HPFT, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleTart/pseuds/TreacleTart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An inconvenient repercussion of husband number two. That’s all I’ll ever be, at least according to my mother</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inconvenient Repercussion

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This story deals with the subject of child abuse. If this is something that might trigger bad feelings for you, please do not read any further.

  
Beautiful Banner by Draco_Luva @ TDA!

An inconvenient repercussion of husband number two. That’s all I’ll ever be, at least according to my mother. Growing up, I can’t count how many times I heard myself described in that way. It is something that has hung over my life at home and even crept insidiously into my school life as well. Those words have shaped my own self image and whittled me down to my core. I know my role in life and I gave up trying to fight my way out of it years ago.

When I was younger, I had constantly hoped that my mother would somehow realize that I was her child and that she was supposed to care for me, but every time I dared to dream of it, she managed to snuff out the fantasy like a stampeding heard of hippogriffs. I was always left at home to fend for myself, sometimes for days at a time, while she was out in search of her next husband. I was no more important to her than a house elf, possibly less important, because as she constantly reminded me, at least house elves were useful. Me on the other hand, well, I was always in the way.

The day before my seventh birthday was the perfect example of how she was with me. I had never really had a cake, presents, or any type of celebration of any sort before. Foolishly, I asked her if we might be able to get a small cake. I mean it wasn’t as if we didn’t have the money after all. Of course, she was really brassed off about it. She went on for what seemed to be forever yelling about what an ungrateful parasite I was. 

Finally, after what felt like ages, I lost my cool. I screamed back at her, asking why she ever bothered to have me if she hated me so much.

To this day, I will never forget her response. She turned on me, cold fury emanating from her body, rage exploding from her eyes and shrieked “Your moronic father wouldn’t sign me into the will because of my previous husband’s suspicious death. He said the only way I would inherit what was his was if I bore him a son, so here you are. About six months after you were born, I fed him a meal laced with a tasteless, odorless poison. It gave me great satisfaction to watch the fat pig die. In retrospect, I probably should’ve fed you some too, you wretched beast. It certainly would’ve made my life a lot easier!”

That night, I packed my bags and tried to run away. I got to the front of our massive property, but quickly realized I had no clue where to go. I was much too young to survive on my own and my mother knew it, but she never tried to stop me. In fact the only reaction I got from her at all was upon my return home. She laughed and called me a coward for not having enough courage to leave when I wasn’t wanted.

When I was eleven, she forgot to pick me up from platform 9 ¾ when I returned from my first year at Hogwarts. Here I was, this child in this crowded station. All of my friends were hugging their family members and I was off in a corner nervously scanning the crowd for her, but as usual she never showed. Had Mrs. Malfoy not noticed me, I might’ve been stuck there forever, orphaned to the streets of London.

Approaching me like a dog that might bite, Mrs. Malfoy asked me if I was okay. I didn’t answer, but she seemed to understand. She told me that she knew my mother and not to worry, that she would take me to her. I remained a statue through it all. 

After conferring with Mr. Malfoy, she told me that she would apparate me home. She took my hand very gently and asked me to hold on tight. We spun on the spot and I could remember that distinct feeling of being squeezed through a very tiny tube. It was the first time I’d ever experienced apparition. My mother never took me anywhere, so I had no reason to try it previously. 

Once the squeezing sensation stopped, I remember opening my eyes to see the massive castle that my mother lived in. It had been bequeathed to her by husband number four or five. I can’t remember which exactly. On first glance, I knew that no one would be home. There wasn’t a single light on in the house and the massive rod iron gates were shut tight like an invading army was soon to approach. I could feel Mrs. Malfoy tense up next to me. It seemed the same thought had occurred to her.

Neither of us even bothered to go inside. Instead, Mrs. Malfoy insisted that I come back to Malfoy Manor for dinner. She said I could have a sleep over with Draco and that they had a Quidditch pitch out back where the two of us could play. I could tell that she felt embarrassed for me and was trying to make me feel better. I can still remember the burning flush creeping up my cheeks as she spoke.

Begrudgingly I went with her. I really had no other option. Once more we spun through the air, landing in front of a gigantic manor made of dark stone. It was surrounded by the most ominous looking tress that I’ve ever seen in my life. To be frank it was a bit creepy, but at least there were lights on inside. 

When we got inside, Mrs. Malfoy sent me off with Draco so that she could get dinner ready. That night, I sat at the dinner table with them all. It was the first time I had ever had a family meal. My mother never made any time to eat with me. In fact, aside from the meals at school, I always ate my meals alone in my room. On occasion, I would try to get one of the house elves to sit with me, but my mother had ordered them not to speak to me. I think she wanted me to be as miserable as possible. It was like a punishment for the fact that I existed.

I ended up staying at Malfoy Manor for a little over a week. It was one of the best weeks of my life. Mrs. Malfoy seemed to understand what I lacked in my life and did what she could to make up for it. I remember hoping that my mother would never return, that maybe one of her many husbands had finally caught on to her scheme and killed her before she could kill him. 

Unfortunately, on the ninth day that awful woman who called herself my mother returned, not by will, but because Mr. Malfoy forced her to at wand point. It was quite a massive disappointment for me. When she acted neither happy to see me nor concerned about the fact that I had been missing for over a week, Mrs. Malfoy demanded that she speak with her in the sitting room. 

I’m not sure what the Malfoy’s said to my mother, but she came shooting out of the room like an angry manticore. She yelled at me to hurry along. When I protested, she smacked me across the cheek. Mrs. Malfoy lost it and lunged at her like she was going to duel her muggle style, but Mr. Malfoy intervened. 

“Now. Now. Let’s calm down. Valentina, I daresay you should watch your temper. It could get you into a lot of trouble, you know.”

Instead of calming down, my mother became even more irate. She stepped up to Lucius, so she was mere inches from his face. “Are you threatening me, Lucius? There’s a quaint notion.”

Turning once more to Mrs. Malfoy, she spat “Narcissa, you better get your husband in line before he ends up like one of my unfortunate husbands.” 

Whipping around, my mother stormed out the door. I unwillingly followed her. 

Upon reaching the outside of Malfoy Manor, my mother told me that we would be apparating home since she had not arranged for any other means of transportation. She held out her hand to me, but I was afraid to take it.

“Hurry up you disgusting cockroach! Give me your hand! I don’t have all day!”

Soon we were home and I was locked inside of my room. She wouldn’t let me out for days, saying that I deserved to suffer for being such a burden on her.

I could continue on about all of the horrific things she did to me as a child, but I’ll spare you the endless saga. The point is that she was never really a mother to me. At best, I was a prop she used to lure new husbands and at worst, something that got in the way of her next marriage. I was never allowed to forget it. Even after the war.

When the war ended, I decided I wanted to be a Healer at St. Mungo’s. I studied rigorously to get into the training program and I worked tirelessly to pass it. I graduated at the top of my class. At my graduation, Mrs. Malfoy sat in the chair that should’ve been for my mother. Mr. Malfoy sat where my father would’ve sat, if I’d had one. I can remember Mrs. Malfoy hugging me at the end of the ceremony and telling me “Any mother would be proud to have a son like you.” What she meant was “Any mother except for yours”  
It was at that moment that I decided to cut ties with my mother completely. In hindsight, I don’t know why it took me so long to do it, but I felt better for it. 

Straight away after graduation, I took a prestigious Healer job with St. Mungo’s. I was earning good money and for the first time in my life doing something positive for the world around me. I found that I was quite good at healing, a natural really. 

Everything was going fine, that is until my mother decided to make an unannounced appearance at my flat. I’m not even certain how she found me. I tried to refuse her entry, but she blasted her way into my home. I asked her to leave, but she started telling me how she had made a mistake in the way she treated me. She told me that the last few years of not speaking to each other made her realize what she had done. 

Tears streamed down her face as she told me that it was her sincerest hope that we might start over. She apologized for the years of torment and explained that it was because she had never been happy with her own self. It was a spectacular performance really. I’m ashamed to admit that I believed it for half a minute. Had she been a bit more patient in her scheming she might’ve even pulled it off.

Just as I was about to let my guard down, she started telling me about how she couldn’t find a new husband. Apparently, the trail of dead men that she left behind her scared away any future prospects. On top of it, she told me that she was getting older and had been burning through money to try and keep up her looks. Supposedly, some wizard in Knockturn Alley promised that he could shave twenty years off of her appearance, so she threw ridiculous amounts of money at him. Needless to say, he took the money and ran, leaving her destitute.

Suddenly, it all made sense to me. She wasn’t visiting me because she missed me or because she regretted how she treated me. It was purely because she needed money. I felt beyond dim. I should’ve known the moment I saw her, but that optimistic three year old child within me had held out hope and once again she managed to crush that optimism with one sweeping blow. 

I told her to get out of my house, but she wouldn’t listen. She started screaming at me and hitting me. I tried to remain calm, but she wouldn’t stop. I don’t remember much of what happened next, except that I kept thinking that she couldn’t keep ruining my life over and over again. 

I blacked out and when I woke up she was dead, her beautiful face smashed into a pulp of torn skin and crushed bone. The cast iron skillet that I used to cook with was in my hand, matted with blood, skin, and hair. I don’t remember killing her, but looking at the scene around me I knew that I did. 

The thing that scares me the most about it is that I feel no remorse. I mean, I know that taking a life is wrong and I feel bad for that, but I’m actually happy that my mother is dead. It’s the only way I know that she won’t pop back into my life and try to destroy it some more.

Several times since this has happened, I’ve been asked whether I regret killing my mother. When I say no, I’m reminded that it will probably mean a life sentence in Azkaban. I think given the choice between fifty more years with Valentina Zabini or the rest of my life with dementors, I’d take the dementors any day. In fact, the only regret I have now is that it took me this long to do it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! 
> 
> This story was originally posted on HPFF for LostMuse's Blaise Awarness Challenge where it placed 3rd! This is probably one of the darker stories that I've written in my collection of works regarding PTSD. 
> 
> I'd love to know what you thought of it, so please feel free to make use of the comment box.
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> ~Kaitlin/TreacleTart


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